


Milkoviches Don't Get Sick

by southsideforever



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Canon-Typical Behavior, Canon-typical language, Domestic Fluff, EMT Ian Gallagher, Gallavich, Husbands, M/M, Sick Mickey Milkovich
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-09
Updated: 2020-10-09
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:29:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26915155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/southsideforever/pseuds/southsideforever
Summary: Milkoviches don’t get sick. At least that’s what Mickey has been telling himself all day. Being sick is a luxury that Mickey has never been able to afford.One-shot about Ian taking care of his sick (and stubborn) husband.
Relationships: Ian Gallagher & Mickey Milkovich, Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich
Comments: 46
Kudos: 418





	Milkoviches Don't Get Sick

Milkoviches don’t get sick. At least that’s what Mickey has been telling himself all day. Being sick is a luxury that Mickey has never been able to afford. 

When he was a little kid, he remembers his mother tucking him into bed and kissing his feverish sweaty forehead. She would smile down at him, running her fingers through his hair and gently whisper, “feel better, mouse.” Of course this was before Terry would walk past his room scowling at him and his mother telling her that she was “turning him into a pussy.” 

As a teenager, being sick and missing school sure as shit didn’t matter, but missing a drug run or not collecting on some fronted coke? Not an option. The sniffles really didn’t matter with a broken nose. The most he could hope for was a sympathetic look from Mandy while she snuck him some cold medicine that she stole from the store.

So when Kev tells Mickey to go home, Mickey becomes defensive. Sure, his head hurts and maybe his nose is runny, _maybe_ he even feels a little feverish... but Milkoviches don’t get sick. 

“The hell would I do that for?” Mickey responds, his voice sounding more nasally than ever. 

“Because you’re sick and I can’t have you spreading whatever you’ve got in here,” V says coming around the bar. 

“Yeah, man, we got it covered. Head home early,” Kev affirms while cutting his beloved lemons.

Mickey had been through a lot of changes recently, including working, legally, at the Alibi Room. It took months to convince Larry fucking Seaver to allow him. ( _“Just tell him you need to be more ingrained in your community and it’ll reduce the chances of you reoffending,” Ian had told him while they were laying in bed one night after a particularly hellish shift at Old Army. “Fuck you talking about?” Mickey questioned with his eyebrows furrowed. “I’m just saying… frame it like it’s a good thing and that you won’t be slinging drinks to withering old alcoholics where you used to pimp out Russian whores.” Ian smirked which made Mickey bite his lip to stop from smiling. “Yeah, okay, Firecrotch. We’ll see.... Now c’mere.” Mickey leaned forward and met Ian’s lips. The stress of the day quickly started to melt away.)_ And so far, it was working out pretty well. Kev was busier than ever running Keg Zone next door and V jumped at the chance for some extra help when Mickey floated the idea to her. In fact, it was the best legal job that Mickey’s ever had not that he had much to compare it to. 

“I’m not fucking sick,” Mickey grumbles. 

“Mick, just go home, man,” Kev replies, finishing his lemons and wiping the bar top before throwing the rag over his shoulder. 

Mickey rolls his eyes sniffling for the thousandth time that afternoon. He starts pouring a pint of Old Style and slides it over the bar. 

“You do look like shit,” Tommy chimes in as he grabs the beer, which promptly gets him a middle finger. 

Mickey knows he should go home. Shit, he’d love to go home. All he wants to do is lay on the couch wrapped in a blanket and nap, but he’s not a pussy. 

“Mickey Milkovich, if you don’t get your ass out of my bar…” V says staring him down. 

Mickey stares back but quickly realizes he’s not going to win this one. “Fine, fuck,” Mickey relents. He goes over to get his coat off the rack near the pool table. He slides it on and wraps his scarf around his neck as he walks past the bar towards the front door. 

“Feel better,” Kermit tells him. 

“Fuck you guys. I’m not fucking sick,” Mickey grumbles one last time as he reaches for the door handle. 

“Goodbye, Mickey,” V yells out sing-songy. “Don’t think about coming in tomorrow either.” Mickey throws up one last middle finger before stepping out into the harsh Chicago winter. He sniffles thinking about how he should have listened to Ian this morning and grabbed a hat. He puts his hands in his coat pockets and starts heading home. 

* * *

Another big change is that Ian and Mickey _finally_ moved out of the Gallagher house. They ended up renting a one-bedroom apartment halfway between the house and the Alibi so they remained close to everyone. It was small and probably hadn’t been updated since the 80s, but it was theirs一something neither of them had ever had before. Finding a landlord that would rent to two felons on parole wasn’t easy, but fortunately for them, it also isn’t incredibly uncommon for the neighborhood.

To say they were still figuring out being married and having their own space would be an understatement. It wasn’t a bad thing, but it was definitely a change for both of them. All of a sudden they found themselves thinking and making decisions about things they never considered before. ( _“What’s our style, Mick?” Ian asked as they walked around the thrift store. “Fuck are you talking about?” Mickey replied following behind him reaching out to flick at a lampshade with tassels一who the fuck would put tassels on a lamp. “What do we want our place to look like? What furniture do we want?” Ian explained while looking at a grey couch before sitting down. Mickey had no clue. Mickey’s never thought about furniture before let alone his “style.” They had already been walking around for an hour and it was clear Ian was becoming increasingly overwhelmed. Mickey sat down next to him and bounced on the cushion testing it out. “I like this one,” Mickey says, not unlike when Ian voiced his preference for the blue stargazer lilies. Ian knew what Mickey was doing and he loved him for it. “Yeah?” Ian questioned quietly. “Yeah,” Mickey nods.)_

As soon as Mickey walks through the door of the apartment, after slogging up three flights of stairs, he kicks off his boots一remnants of snow and slush hitting the floor. Mickey makes no efforts to clean it up or even move his boots out of the doorway; he knows Ian will be annoyed when he gets home, but he doesn't have the energy to fix it. 

He moves further into the apartment and takes off his coat and scarf putting them on the back of one of the kitchen table chairs. Another thing that would annoy Ian. ( _“This is why we have a coat rack.”_ ) He makes his way to the bathroom flicking the light switch and opening the medicine cabinet. He silently thanks whoever deserved it that there was a fresh bottle of Advil. Mickey opens the bottle taking out two pills, washing them down with water from the sink. He puts the bottle back and closed the cabinet, which leaves his reflection staring back at him. It was the first time Mickey had really looked at himself all day. Tommy might have been right… he did look like shit. His nose was red and the area around his eyes was dark, which stood out even more against his paler-than-usual skin. He looks tired and feels it even more. 

Mickey turns off the bathroom light and considers going to the couch like he originally intended, but their bed looks too comfortable. Mickey steps into the room and immediately slips off his pants. Although the radiator rattles and hisses letting him know that the heat is on, it's still little match for the weather and his not-sickness. 

Mickey climbs into bed laying on his usual side, the right side, because it's closest to the door. He’d never admit this, but he might have grabbed Ian’s pillow as he wrapped the comforter around himself.

It turns out their style includes a lot of blues and greys. He’s not sure how they decided that, but here he is snuggled up in their grey and white bed that has a wooden headboard up against a blue accent wall. ( _“What the hell is an accent wall?” “It breaks up the room and it’ll look good.” “Whatever you say, Gallagher.”)_ He smiles thinking about how Ian, and maybe himself just a little bit, got so into picking things out for their apartment. Of course, they didn’t have a lot of money, but they were both used to making more out of less. They did some work themselves such as painting all of the rooms and negotiated with the landlord to let them replace the tile in the bathroom. They even splurged on a couple of things like a new bed and stable wifi. 

As he settles in, he definitely doesn't smell Ian’s pillow and he most certainly _does not_ smile into it thinking of the redhead. Mickey's convinced that Ian is slowly turning him into the softest motherfucker this side of the city. 

Mickey looks over at Ian’s side of the bed to check the clock on his nightstand. 4:33pm. Assuming there aren't any major catastrophes, Ian would be home in a couple of hours. Mickey yawns and closes his eyes.

* * *

“God damnit, Mickey,” Ian curses as he keys into their apartment and immediately stumbles over Mickey’s boots. Although the snow and slush have dried, they've left salt marks on the wooden floor. Ian sighs. He moves to take off his EMT jacket and hangs it on one of the coat rack’s posts. He grabs Mickey’s boots and kicks off his own making sure they were both out of the doorway and neatly on the floor. Ian moves to set down his bag carrying extra clothes, random medical supplies, and his lunch bag next to the couch. He looks into the kitchen sighing once again when he notices Mickey’s coat on the back of the chair. 

Ian makes his way to the refrigerator and grabs a beer. “Mick!” he yells out into the unusually quiet apartment. “Mick, you wanna a beer?” He twists the top off the bottle and throws it in the trash before taking a big gulp. 

Mickey isn't the only one experiencing job changes lately. Ever since Paula’s death, Ian has been assigned to do-gooder Larry as well. Larry tried to get Ian a job at a local restaurant, which wasn’t a terrible option, but he shared that he really enjoyed, and missed, his work as an EMT. Larry hesitated. He knew it wasn’t Ian’s fault that Paula had him committing insurance fraud, but he also knew that it would be hard to get a convicted felon back into legitimate EMT work. Ian knew this too and convinced Larry he would do whatever it’d take to get back into the field. 

So with Larry’s blessing, Ian reached out to Rita. She was surprised to hear from him, especially since he kind of just... disappeared. Rita knew from Sue that Ian had them regularly stopping at the youth center between calls and that Ian became more and more obsessed with protecting the youth from unsupportive parents and harmful religious rhetoric. It started with him missing a few shifts here and there. Rita was concerned and reached out to Ian asking how he was feeling, which they both knew was code for, “are you managing your bipolar?” Ian spoke quickly and passionately as he told her about the youth he was saving and the bigoted church “services” he was disrupting. Rita told Ian to take a few days and give her a call when he was ready to get back to work. Ian never called. The next time Rita, and Sue, heard about Ian was from a news segment talking about a blown-up van and rally in Daley Plaza. 

Rita was upfront with Ian: he had burned her one too many times and she was reluctant to let him come back. Ian understood even though he desperately wanted, _needed_ , another chance. He told Rita about working for Paula and Shelley, and how he was meeting regularly with his psychiatrist and therapist at the clinic. He felt stable. He had the support that he didn’t have before including a husband he loved and trusted, and who loved and trusted him back. 

Rita took in everything Ian had to say. Ian couldn’t read her face, but he hoped that pouring out his soul to her would help her understand just how much he needed this job. 

After what felt like hours but was only seconds, Ian heard, “Don’t fuck me over, Gallagher. I’m giving you one final chance. If you blow it, you’re done. I can’t keep doing this with you.” He was ecstatic and thanked her profusely. Rita gave him a small smile and patted him on the shoulder. She agreed to provide a reference when he submitted his application to the state一an extra step convicted felons had to take to re-enter the medical field. It took weeks to hear back, but eventually, Ian was cleared and started working at MCE. 

As Ian heads into the bedroom, he sees a tuft of black hair poking out from under the comforter. He quietly takes off his uniform and hangs it in the closet. Mickey is asleep, holding his pillow tight, and snoring softly. Ian notices balled up tissues on Mickey’s nightstand and his red nose. Ian slides into bed laying on his side so he can face Mickey. He puts his arm around Mickey’s waist and he begins to stir. 

“Mickey?” Ian whispers. Mickey opens his eyes slowly looking at Ian. He looks tired and, well, sick. 

“Hi,” Ian whispers and rubs his hand gently up and down Mickey’s side.

Mickey moves the comforter to also cover Ian and gives him access to his pillow. “Hi,” Mickey responds, voice sounding hoarse from more than just sleep. 

“You don’t look so good.” 

“Fuck you, Gallagher,” Mickey coughed out, but there wasn’t any real oomph behind it. 

“I thought you were working tonight?” Ian asks while pushing back a strand of Mickey’s hair that had fallen onto his forehead. 

“I was but V sent me home.” 

“How come?” 

“She, uh, she said I needed to take my sick ass home, but you know that Milko一” 

“Milkoviches don’t get sick, yes, I know,” Ian rolls his eyes. He knows this is going to be an uphill battle. 

Mickey groans as he stretches his arms out causing another cough. He runs his palms down his face and breathes deeply before looking at Ian. He can tell Ian wants to say something, but he's keeping quiet knowing that Mickey probably doesn't want to hear it. 

Instead, Ian asks, “How long have you been asleep?” Reaching out to touch Mickey’s side again. 

Mickey raises so he can look over Ian’s shoulder. 6:47pm. “Uh… I don’t know. Couple of hours.” 

“Mick…” Ian starts cautiously. He moves his hand up to try and touch Mickey’s forehead to see if it's overly warm. 

Mickey pulls back, bats at his hand, and moves to sit up. “Don’t fucking start,” Mickey replies as he reaches over to grab a tissue blowing his nose. Ian tries not to cringe as he watches Mickey toss it on his nightstand. 

Ian sits up and scoots over to Mickey reaching out to rub his back. “I’m not starting anything.” He hears Mickey scoff and rolls his eyes to himself.

“Why don’t you go take a hot shower?” Ian tries to suggest casually. 

Mickey turns to look back at his husband. He knows what he's trying to do and as much as it allegedly annoys him, he likes it. Mickey turns back to facing the door, tries to sniffle as quietly as possible, and presses his palms against his eyes. He feels hot and frustrated. He can't breathe through his nose, which makes his throat hurt even more, and the Advil hasn't done fuck all for his pounding headache. 

Ian can’t help the tightness in his chest as he watches his husband try to hide just how shitty he feels. He knows it’s a deeply rooted survival skill Mickey developed after years of being in the Milkovich House of Horrors, but it still makes him feel incompetent. So he crawls out of bed and walks over to where Mickey’s still sitting. Mickey opens his legs letting Ian stand between them; he even wraps his arms around Ian’s waist and rests his face against the redhead's stomach. Ian can feel just how warm Mickey is and runs his fingers through his dark black hair. Ian leans down to kiss the top of Mickey’s head before pulling back and looking down at him. 

“Are you hungry?” Ian asks, continuing to run his fingers in Mickey’s hair. Ian doesn’t think Mickey realizes just how much he’s leaning into his hands. 

Mickey sniffles again and goes to clear his throat. “Not really, but we should probably get something.” 

Ian nods and leans down to kiss the top of his head again. Ian reaches out his hands and pulls Mickey up so they’re standing close to each other. He notices that Mickey’s shivering now that he’s not nested in their bed. 

Ian moves to their dresser and pulls out two pairs of pajama pants. He smiles to himself as he notices the bottoms are a little ragged. They've grown accustomed to wearing each other’s clothes but their significant height difference leads to the inseam being a little too long for some. 

He tosses the blue plaid ones at Mickey while he pulls on a red pair. Mickey steps into his without commentary and Ian heads to the closet. He finds a well-worn yellow hoodie and also tosses it at Mickey. 

“The hell you dressing me up for, Versace?” Mickey snarks even though he puts on the hoodie and zips it up. 

Ian rolls his eyes. “I love that you know who Versace is,” he replies walking out of the bedroom. He hears Mickey groan but it quickly turns into a cough. 

He hears Mickey following him into the living room. Ian knows full well that he's stealing Mickey's line when he tells him, "Take a seat, Tough Guy." Mickey grumbles but follows directions as he drops down onto the couch. Ian reaches over him to grab the blanket that’s resting on the back of it and with more flair than necessary, he drapes it over Mickey. 

Mickey watches as Ian grabs the remote from the coffee table, turns on the tv, and opens up Netflix. “Pick something,” he says, throwing the remote next to Mickey. Mickey grabs it and starts looking through the options. 

As Mickey’s clicking through the app, Ian makes his way to the kitchen. He pours a glass of orange juice, heading back into the living room silently setting it down in front of Mickey. Ian knows that Mickey is intentionally not looking at or acknowledging him, and he lets him. 

Ian walks back towards the bedroom to clean up a bit. He grabs a tissue from the box, using it to collect all of Mickey’s used ones, and throws them away. He grabs the box and brings it into the living room setting it next to the orange juice. 

This time, Mickey makes eye contact with him. “What’re you doing?” 

“Nothing, Mick. Just pick a show,” Ian replies sitting down next to him. Mickey instinctively nestles closer to Ian. He settles on _Ozark,_ which has Ian grinning and slightly shaking his head. 

Ian pulls out his phone and Mickey can see he’s Googling something from the corner of his eye. 

“What’re you doing?” 

“You’ve been asking that a lot tonight.” 

“How about you fucking answer me for once?” 

“I’m seeing how late Patsy’s is open.” 

“Didn’t your sister make it 24 hours?” 

“That was years ago, Mick.”

“Why you looking anyway?”

“We should get some soup.”

Mickey squints at Ian who doesn't even look up from his phone. “I don’t need soup, Gallagher.” 

“I know, but it’s cold out and I want some,” Ian replies, finally looking at Mickey. “That okay with you?” 

Mickey bites his lip. It does sound good. “Fine,” Mickey reluctantly agrees. 

“Great,” Ian jumps up from the couch. 

“Where are you going?” Mickey quickly asks. He hates himself for sounding like a needy bitch, but he knows that he can be with Ian and he's pretty sure the redhead gets off on it.

“Mickey, I gotta go get it…” Ian starts as he leans down to put his boots back on. “Patsy’s is like two blocks away. I’ll be back before you even finish this episode.” Mickey watches as he stands up from tying his boots and grabs the coat next to his EMT one. He feels guilty that Ian is bundling up and going to trek to the diner alone. 

“I’ll come with you,” Mickey ays and moves to get up as well.

Before he can completely unwrap the blanket from around his shoulders and get up, the redhead stops him. “Nope, I got this.” Mickey just looks up at him. “Sit down,” Ian gently tells him and kisses the top of his head for the third time that night.

“I’ll be right back,” Ian whispers into his hair and Mickey gives the slightest nod. He watches Ian leave their apartment and settles back into the couch. 

* * *

It was fucking cold. That’s all that crossed Ian’s mind as he quickly walks the two blocks to Patsy’s. He almost wishes that it would snow so it wouldn’t be so cold, but hey, that’s Chicago for you. Even with his hands in his pockets, he feels frozen. As soon as he opens the door and walks into the diner, he talks his hands out and begins to rub them together. 

He walks up to the counter and takes a seat. Eliza is the first to notice him and gives him a smile as she walks over. 

“Hey! Good to see you, Ian,” she tells him, taking her pen and pad out of her apron. 

Ian smiles back, “You too.” 

Ian feels a little weird exchanging pleasantries with the person who essentially sold out Fiona and took her job, but he was on a mission. 

“What can I get ya?” 

Ian grabs a menu from behind the napkin dispenser and quickly scans the options. “Uh… can I get a bowl of chicken and rice soup… a bowl of chicken noodle, and two grilled cheeses? Oh, and two pieces of apple pie,” Ian replies putting the laminated menu back.

Eliza finishes writing down the order telling Ian, “Give us about 10 minutes, okay?” Ian nods and watches as she turns around to slide the order ticket across the opening that separates the kitchen from the rest of the diner. 

Ian pulls out his phone as he waits, noticing that he has a text from V. 

**V (7:12pm):** Did Mickey make it home okay? 

**Ian (7:34pm):** Yeah, thanks for letting him go early. We all know he needed it. 

**V (7:39pm):** He’s so god damn stubborn. Told him not to come in tomorrow too. Make sure of that? 

Ian smirks at her message. It's true: Mickey's stubborn as hell. 

**Ian (7:40pm):** Will do 👍🏻

 **V (7:41pm):** 💜

Ian slides his phone back into his coat pocket just as Eliza brings a plastic bag over to him. She sets it down in front of him along with the check. Ian reaches for his wallet pulling out $20, handing it over, and grabbing the bag. 

“Thanks, have a good night,” Ian tells him while making his way towards the front door.

“Sure thing. Be careful out there!”

Ian smiles and gives her a little wave before stepping back out into the cold dark night. 

As Ian makes his way back to the apartment, he passes a small convenience store. Without much thought, he heads inside. He looks around for a couple of minutes before seeing the _Cold and Flu_ sign. Ian examines the choices and decides to get some Nyquil and Vicks vapor rub. You know, should anyone need anything like that. Ian brings the items to the register, pays for them, and _finally_ heads home. 

* * *

When Ian enters the apartment, he finds Mickey in almost the same spot that he left him except now he's laying down. The blanket is wrapped around him and he looks half asleep. Ian also notices that the orange juice is half gone. 

“Took you long enough,” a muffled voice snarks as Ian kicks off his boots and hangs up his coat for the last time that night. Ian places both bags on the coffee table and heads into the kitchen. He doesn't respond and instead focuses on getting two spoons figuring they could just eat out of the containers. 

“Mick, you gotta sit up.” 

Mickey groans but sits up anyway. His hair is all over the place except for the left side which had been resting against the couch. Even with his tired eyes and stuffy red nose, Ian still thinks he's beautiful.

“So I got two different kinds of soup that you can choose from,” Ian tells him as he beings pulling items out of the bag. “There’s chicken and rice or classic chicken noodle, and I got grilled cheese. I also got apple pie if you’re up for it.” Once everything is laid out Ian asked, “What’re you thinking?” 

Instead of a sarcastic comment, Mickey quietly responds, “Chicken noodle.” Ian smiles and slides the container towards him with a spoon. Ian also opens the container with their grilled cheeses and puts it in between them on the coffee table. 

Mickey and Ian eat dinner without much conversation while _Ozark_ continues to play. (" _Is it good?” “It’s just soup, Ian.”_ ) Mickey finishes his soup and half of a grilled cheese before sitting back against the couch cushions. Once he also finishes, Ian gathers up the nearly empty containers and takes them into the kitchen to throw them away. He also grabbed the pieces of pie and set them on the counter; they could always have it for breakfast. 

When Ian reenters the living room, he sees Mickey with his head leaned back against the couch, face towards the ceiling, and eyes closed. Ian reaches for the other bag pulling out the Nyquil. “Mick…” he starts. Mickey opens his eyes. 

“What the fuck, Gallagher?” 

“C’mon, just take it. It’ll make _me_ feel better.” 

“Fine,” Mickey huffs as he watches Ian pour the green liquid into the provided measuring cup. “You’re really putting those EMT skills to work,” Mickey snarks as Ian hands him the cup. Mickey throws it back like a shot and makes a slight grimace. Ian takes the cup back from him and sets it on the table mentally telling himself he should rinse it out before it gets sticky.

Pleased, Ian sits on the couch and maneuvers himself so his back is against one of the armrests. “C’mere,” he gently guides Mickey to sit in between his legs with his back against Ian’s chest. Mickey settles in without any protests.

Ian wraps his arms around Mickey and feels his body relax against him.

* * *

Around 9:45pm Ian realizes that Mickey’s body is getting heavier and heavier against him. His breathing has slowed and he's begun to make little snoring sounds as his body tries its hardest to breathe through his nose. Ian shifts around whispering, “Mickey?”

“Hmm?”

“It’s time for bed.” 

Mickey doesn't argue as Ian sits them both up; he definitely isn't fully awake. With a groan, Mickey stands up from the couch heading down the hall towards the bathroom. Ian can hear the sink running as Mickey prepares for bed and he begins closing up for the night. Ian shuts off the tv, checks that the front door is locked, and makes sure the thermostat is set to a little higher than usual. He hears the water cut off in the bathroom and Mickey shuffle into their bedroom. 

Ian grabs the Vicks from the bag heading towards the bedroom as well, flipping off the kitchen light as he walks past. 

Upon entering the room, Ian sees the yellow hoodie thrown on a chair they have in the corner. He shakes his head smirking before looking at the bed where Mickey is already wrapped up just like he was when he came home from work. 

Ian walks around the bed setting the vapor rub on his nightstand and slides under the comforter. They're facing each other as Ian reaches out to put his large freckled hand over Mickey’s smaller one. Ian loves feeling the cold hard ring Mickey's wearing against his palm. 

Mickey’s eyes are heavy as he clearly struggles to stay awake. “Thank you for… taking care of me or whatever,” he tells Ian quietly. Ian gives him a soft smile and leans forward to kiss his forehead. Mickey yawns and shuts his eyes. 

“Turn over... I want to hold you,” Ian requests smirking.

“Soft motherfucker,” Mickey laughs faintly but he rolls over onto his left side. Once he settles, Ian moves in so his chest is pressed up against Mickey’s back just like it was on the couch.

Suddenly, Ian pulls back from him reaching over to the nightstand. Mickey looks over his shoulder to see what Ian is doing. When he saw the vapor rub, he groans, “No fucking way.” 

Ian presses back against him opening the container. His nose is immediately hit with eucalyptus and menthol. “Just let me…” Ian digs his fingers into the container reaching over Mickey to get to his neck and upper chest.

“Leave me alone,” Mickey tries to sound intimidating but another yawn disrupts his threat. 

Ian ignores him anyway reaching under the neckline of his t-shirt, massaging the ointment into his skin. Just as he suspected, Mickey’s empty threats were just that. Once he's satisfied, he pulls his hand back and wipes the remaining bit on the comforter telling himself he’d wash it this weekend.

Ian wraps his arm around Mickey lacing their fingers together and holding both of their hands tightly against Mickey’s chest. He leans forward to kiss the back of Mickey’s neck as they snuggle into each other for the night. 

Ian whispers, “It’s too bad, you know?” kissing Mickey’s neck again. 

“What?” 

“That I can’t take tomorrow off.” 

Ian doesn't need to see his face to know that Mickey's furrowing his brows trying to figure out what he's talking about. 

“Well…" Ian starts. "I could only take the day off if my husband was sick, but you don’t get sick… right?” 

Ian pulls Mickey in tighter kissing the soft spot behind his ear; a move that he knew he loved. It was quiet for a couple of minutes. Ian assumes that Mickey fell asleep when he faintly hears his name. 

“Ian?” 

“Yeah?” 

“...I might be a little sick.” 

Ian smiles against the back of Mickey’s neck. “I know.” Texts had already been sent and blessings had already been given. Ian is cleared to spend the day at home caring for the only man he’s ever truly loved. 

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first fic that I have ever written. I hope you enjoy it and I welcome any feedback!


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